Gay Harry Potter-02-Top and Tail
by jerome1980
Summary: Prologue & Epilogue to previous postings of Gay Harry Potter-02. It is 1942-3. Tom Riddle is hunting for Slytherin's "Treasure"; The three highly-sexed Black boys follow him devotedly.


CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

_Slytherin's Treasure_

ONE

_49 Years Later: The Best Tuesday and The Worst Birthday_

TWO

_Dobby's Warning and The Wonderful Odours_

THREE

_The Burrow_

FOUR

_At Flourish and Blotts_

FIVE

_The Whomping Willow_

SIX

_Gilderoy Lockhart_

SEVEN

_Mudbloods and Murmurs_

EIGHT

_The Deathday Party_

NINE

_The Writing on the Wall_

TEN

_Gay Harry and The Rogue Bludger_

ELEVEN

_The Duelling Club_

TWELVE

_The Polyjuice Potion and Ron's Big One_

THIRTEEN

_The Very Secret Diary_

FOURTEEN

_Cornelius Fudge_

FIFTEEN

_Aragog_

SIXTEEN

_The Chamber of Secrets_

SEVENTEEN

_The Heir of Slytherin_

EIGHTEEN

_Dobby and Ron Rewarded_

EPILOGUE

_Pure Blood_

— PROLOGUE — _Slytherin's Treasure_

Everyone called them cousins, though true cousins share one set of grandparents and the Black boys had only a single great-grandfather in common.

In fact, in terms of proportions of shared Blood, many of the students at Hogwarts who weren't called cousins were much more than an eighth-related—purebloods, perforce, were deeply interbred.

But there _were_ cognancies that made people link Cygnus and Orion: their dark-brown hair; their intense, classically wizard-like features; their wildness; and, above all, a shared pride in their Black and pureblood ancestry and a total contempt for, and intolerance of Muggle-borns, half-bloods, and even quarter-bloods.

But the very worst people, in the Black's opinion, were blood-traitors: purebloods who demeaned themselves in any way to those with even a tiny fraction of Muggle blood.

Cygnus was the older, but Orion was more important: he had the title: _Heir Apparent Squared of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_. In English this meant that he would become head of the Black family after the deaths of his grandfather and father.

The two Blacks had something else in common; something unexpected given their conservative background: their best friend was in Gryffindor.

And not just anyone in Gryffindor: their friend was Charlus Potter, heir to another ancient wizard family, though much less grand than the Blacks. The Potters were liberals: solid in the belief that humans were humans, whether Muggles or magic-folk; that peaceful co-existence was good and mixed marriage better.

Yet the three boys were friends—and it was all because of Quidditch.

A year earlier, little Orion had arrived at Hogwarts, been unhesitatingly Sorted into Slytherin, and gone to bed on his first night as cocky as any boy in the school.

His self-esteem (and his body) took a dive the next morning: he turned out to be hopeless on a broomstick.

As a townee, Orion had never been Up before, but he was a Quidditch fanatic and had always assumed that he'd soon be emulating the star players.

It turned out that he could just about float, but went out of control as soon as he tried to move.

To add to his humiliation, little Charlus Potter was soon soaring and swooping and swerving and stealing the show.

How he hated Potter!

The Blacks are a clever and bull-headed family and within weeks Orion had concocted and consumed a Nerve Potion devised to enhance the links between brain and muscles, so making him a super-hero on a broomstick.

The result was a fortnight's stay in the Hospital Wing while Time and a Muscle-Relaxing Potion allowed his twitchings to die away.

On the second day his embarrassment was increased: Charlus Potter was admitted and, so the boys could be company for each other, given the bed next to Orion.

Embarrassment lessened as he saw Charlus's wounds—severe rippings of the anus—being treated with finger-massages and laxatives.

Madam Higgins was in charge; every hour she came to attend to Charlus and change Orion's nappy.

In such circumstances, it was impossible for the boys to be stand-offish, let alone hostile; soon they were exchanging stories: Orion told of his disastrous Potion and Charlus of his dealings with Tom Riddle.

"Riddle did _that_?" said Orion, "With his _cock_?"

"Yeah."

"But why? If he wanted to do that, why not a girl? They've got the right hole, haven't they?"

"Punishment."

"Whatever for?"

"I was walking out the Great Hall and swaying a bit because I was thinking of a corkscrew move for Quidditch. I barged in to Riddle and shouted out an insult. Next Saturday he kidnapped me and. . . ."

"Has he been expelled?"

"Has he heck! He's got an alibi. No one believes me. They think it was Gryffindor big boys annoyed because I've been shooting my mouth off."

"_I_ believe you," said Orion, "I believe Riddle _would_ do that: Cyg says that he's more than just a pretty face."

"He _is_ good-looking, isn't he? I'm sort of glad it was him. . . ."

Orion thought for a while: he'd felt a weird twinge of pleasure every time Madam Higgins came and stuck her medicated finger up Charlus's bum; and the idea of handsome Tom Riddle's cock stretching that tight little hole was not as repulsive as it should have been.

But, for some reason, Orion's biggest thrills came while ugly old Madam Higgins was changing him: by the time she had removed the sodden nappy and started to use a flannel on the naughty bits, his penis was steel-hard.

"You're going to make someone a happy witch," she would say as she stroked the foreskin up and down a couple of times to make sure it was _really_ clean; and all the Muscle-Relaxing Potions in the world wouldn't have stopped Orion's penile twitches.

They took Cygnus into their confidences and the lads became firm friends, agreeing that the one topic they would never discuss was the status of Muggles, on which subject they agreed to differ.

A year later, Cyg, Rine and Charlie, as they called each other, met in the Great Hall after the first dinner of the Spring Term. There was the usual Bedlam: this was the common area where friends in different houses met.

Charlus had to shout as he gave the cousins a fourth-hand account of Alan Mayne, a Muggle who had recently eliminated some deadly germs using something called a starling grid.

"What-ho, chaps!"

Tom Riddle was there. He sat down with them and beamed as he handed over a small package to Charlus.

"Here's a New Year present for you, Charlie."

"Oh, you didn't need to, Tom," said Charlus as he unwrapped a little model of Denman Clarke, star Seeker for the Binstead Bashers. "Thanks, anyway."

Orion was, as ever, impressed by the intensity with which Tom Riddle devoted much of his life to compensating Charlus for his pain and embarrassment.

As soon as Charlus was back in circulation after the _incident_, as Tom called it, an approach was made through Cygnus: Tom offered total apology, hinted that he had been forced into punishing Charlus by senior Slytherins and vowed to renounce sex and violence for life.

Charlus hadn't needed much persuading: he liked his new friends and the Blacks were clearly overjoyed that the glamorous Tom had become their own friend and protector.

Sometimes Orion wondered if Riddle was attracted more by the Black family's status than by the cousins themselves; and, after observing that the cousins were friends with Charlus, had aimed a charm-blitz at him; but, being a straightforward boy, Orion always dismissed such thoughts as silly.

Anyway there a topic of much greater importance for Orion to think about: _Treasure_!

With his usual openness and generosity, Tom had revealed his theory that, before Salazar Slytherin had been evicted from Hogwarts a thousand years earlier, he must have done something with his great hoard because the records showed that Salazar had left with nothing; the hoard must therefore be concealed somewhere in the castle or its grounds.

A four-way split had been agreed and the three younger boys had helped Tom by, for example, measuring up rooms and corridors; sounding walls for cavities; diverting Professor Slughorn when Tom wanted access to a book with unacceptably Dark content.

On this first evening of term, Charlus voiced a thought that had occurred to him over the Christmas holidays: "Tom, Salazar's emblem was a serpent, wasn't it? So he'd surely mark his Treasure with it; and there's a serpent on your fireplace, isn't there?"

"And on Salazar's ring," said Cygnus.

Tom was interested: "Of course! That's the approach I—we—should have been taking from the start. I'll have a quick scan now and go back for a proper try in the night."

He skipped away and the three remaining boys discussed possibilities before moving on to the subject that they had all known would arise:

"Got any of that stuff, Cyg?" asked Charlus.

_That stuff_ referred to the fascinating white goo that could be induced to shoot out of Cyg's penis under suitable conditions.

The first necessary condition was privacy and a bright light—Rine and Charlie wanted to see what was going on.

They slipped into a store-room on the third floor—a frequent resort for those naughty Hogwarts students who wanted to indulge in smoking or sex; or both.

Three limp little willies were pulled out: Charlie's like a little white worm; Rine's like a little café-au-lait worm; and Cyg's, twice the length of the others, a tan, meaty hunk dangling from a mass of black hair.

Cyg would be fourteen in a month and had been able to shoot for over a year. Rine had mixed feelings: he enjoyed the sight, and sometimes the touch of Cyg's manly kit, but he felt envious and impatient at the same time: he was only nine months younger than Cyg but still had a squeaky little-boy's voice, the tiniest of willies and not a hint of the body hair which was so abundant on his cousin. Even Alphie, Cyg's little brother, who had just been Sorted into Slytherin, had a hint of a moustache growing above his penis.

After a little jiggling, the three willies were stiff, straight and standing on the salute at thirty degrees.

They remained pleasingly varied: Charlie's still milky-white, with the tip hidden under a tight foreskin; Rine's light brown with a claret-coloured glans; about four inches like Charlie's.

Cyg, though, had a no-nonsense, witch-pleaser: six inches of pale tan, delicately veined and topped with a businesslike bell-end, darker than Rine's—more burgundy than claret.

For a passing moment Rine wished he were homo; then he thought of his big cousin Walburga and her huge, matronly bosom, which he was sometimes allowed to fondle. No, not homo!

The boys moved from jiggling to rubbing and were soon engaged in full-stroke high-speed whanking.

This was such fun, thought Rine; he was looking at Cyg's jerking penis, but his mind was filled with images of rose-tipped bosoms and the smelly, secret slits that girls hid between their legs. He had often seen Walburga's slit when they were younger, but only once since she had acquired a massive bush that dwarfed her younger brother's.

It was of Walburga's slit that he thought as an orgasm swept over him: no sticky gush, but a feeling of indescribable pleasure in his loins with a hot-and-cold goose-pimply flush.

As though responding to Rine's emotional outburst towards his sister, Cyg came too: a preliminary drop curved to the floor; then a scatter-gun succession of squirts, most of the runny white semen ending up on the shelves designed to store textbooks.

The boys stopped their movements and Charlie said: "Wow, Cyg! That was the best ever!"

His friends knew what he meant: Charlie didn't feel orgasms and _best ever_ referred to Cygnus's semen.

"I've been saving it up for you, Darling," said Cygnus in an effeminate voice.

The others laughed: the only "Darling" in Cyg's world was Druella Rosier, the blonde bombshell.

After a short period of silence, Rine said: "No homework. Shall we go down for some games or stay for seconds?"

They decided on seconds.

That night Orion lay in his bed thinking: he had a feeling that something of massive significance had been said that evening, but he couldn't think what. . . .

— EPILOGUE— _Pure Blood_

Orion Black drew his curtains and settled into bed; it was one o'clock and he was very tired.

It had been an exciting evening—an exciting day—an exciting term: a death, an expulsion, many injured and the daily expectation that Hogwarts would be closed.

And the climax had come that evening: the presentation of a Special Award to wonderful Tom Riddle.

He loved and worshipped Tom; so did his cousin; so did the girls. Even Charlie from Gryffindor adored him: "It takes a real man to own up to making a mistake," he would say.

Elfindamm Rosier had mentioned once when drunk and amorous that Tom had a darker side. Everyone knew that pansies were cattish, but the lads were worried: did _darker_ mean _Darker_?

When they had put it to Tom, he was as honest and open as ever: "Look I'm just an ordinary guy but it's blindingly obvious to me that Defence Against the Dark Arts without _using_ the Dark Arts is like duelling without a wand. Everyone knows this—even the Ministry—but they won't allow it to be taught. It's hypocritical correctness gone mad!"

Good, sensible, sincere Tom! Perhaps he'd been forced to use the Dark Arts to expose Hagrid's lethal scheme. The Ministry wouldn't have sanctioned this, but they were happy enough with the results.

The Minister himself had presented the award making an amazingly pompous and boring speech.

There was one thing that slightly bothered Orion about the affair: that Rubeus Hagrid should be the boy behind it. Hagrid was not particularly bright or wizardly gifted, so how had he managed it; and, also to the point, why? That someone who was reckoned by all to be a half-giant should take an anti-Muggle-born stance was almost unbelievable. And to do it with a _spider_!

This point would not have occurred to old Dippy, but surely Slug or Dumbledore. . . .

Perhaps there was truth in the rumour that Dumbledore was refurbishing the old Gamekeeper's Hut for Hagrid.

That was one less place for sex!—homo-sex, of course, as Hogwarts was chock-full of spells to "protect" the girls . . . but in two days time it was the holidays and Walpurga was as eager as he was to take up where they had left off.

By the Easter holidays, he had become a man and Walpurga, though four years older, couldn't get enough of him. The way she wiggled and pounded her body against his. . . . he got the horn and his hand slid downwards. . . . But no! He needed to do the right thing by Cyg; and the right thing included giving Rosier a couple of good seeings-to on the last day of term.

Cygnus Black was body and soul in love with Druella Rosier and she with him. The problem was that Elfindamm, despite his nature, was the man of the family and had told Druella: one finger out of place and she'd go into purdah at the family mansion.

There was an easy solution, though: as long as Cygnus and his friends saw to Elfindamm's sexual needs, then Druella and Cygnus would be allowed meet in chaste companionship; and during the summer hols, perhaps something less chaste . . .

Slytherin was an odd house in many ways and, in this generation at least, especially odd as regards homo-sex: it was banned, anathema, totally taboo . . . except that Elfindamm Rosier was tolerated as a sort of court jester or yurodivy who was allowed to exist outside any rules.

And not only exist: Rosier couldn't get enough cock. By his own admission he didn't feel fulfilled without a cock in his bum, a cock in his mouth and a cock in each hand; he couldn't concentrate in class without the resultant pungent stickiness affecting these four areas of his body.

Perhaps it was the fact that his housemaster, Professor Slughorn, was rumoured to also like a cock or two (hence the many parrot jokes about him) that allowed Rosier his leeway; though, there again, Slug had once docked his own house fifty points, announcing "Rosier knows why!"

Rumour (unconfirmed again) had it that Nott, Lestrange, Mulciber and Dolohov had arrived at Slug's office with completely drained testicles following a particularly demanding session with Rosier.

He might be an efficient drainer of big boys, but Rosier's real preference was for the pubertal ages: thirteen to fifteen; so the opportunity for a _quid pro quo_ with Cygnus Black was a godsend.

A godsend for Cyg too: he told his friends that Rosier was a _bloody good shag_—not that Cyg was an expert; and, in Cyg's case, there was the extra delight of doing it with his beloved's brother.

Cyg probably had a point, though: pubertal boys from all houses queued up to lose their front virginities to Rosier, and came back for more and more to the extent that pretty little Gethyn Slack, the Hufflepuff House Tart, complained that he was going short.

Orion, too, was in thrall: when Rosier fluttered his eyelashes, even though Rine knew they were mascara'ed, he went weak at the knees, stiff in the willy and, as soon as possible, was banging himself hard into Rosier.

Lying in bed, Rine thought of this and again reached down with his hand. No! Tomorrow! . . .

At the closing dinner, Dippy gave his usual rambling speech and Walpurga whispered in his ear: "Just one more day, darling!"

The House Cup was awarded to Ravenclaw and the school year was over.

At eight o'clock, as promised, Rine made his way to Slytherin.

Elfindamm Rosier, like Tom Riddle had his own bedroom in Slytherin house.

When Rine gave the password—_Riddle forever!_—and entered, he met the most unexpected of sights: a tiny bottom was bouncing happily on top of Elfindamm. It belonged to Cyg's little brother, Alphard, barely (hah-hah) twelve.

"Awright, Alphie!"

"Awright, Rine!"

"Awright, Elf!"

Rosier made no reply, but took Rine's willy in his mouth and expertly jockeyed it into a state of erection.

Rine shuddered with pleasure and looked down on Alphie's bum. It really was attractive and, not for the first time, Rine felt himself brushed by the wings of the Angel of Queerdom; said Angel being driven away by the mental image of Walpurga—and also of Druella: he wondered if threesomes and foursomes would feature in his future.

The current threesome ended abruptly as Elf pushed Rine away.

"Sorry love," he said, "It's all got to go in the botty today. I'm under orders."

"Who from?"

"There's only one person I take orders from. Ooh, Alphie, that's nice. Size isn't everything, you know, sweetheart. Now please take a break and let your cousin in."

Alphie grinned and said "Alphie do Elfie a bit more later."

He pushed himself up. He showed no sign of puberty but he was dripping.

"Merlin's Beard, Elfin!" said Rine, "Have you cut your prices or what?"

"Cheeky! Just you get yourself in there and add your minuscule blob."

"Cheeky yourself!" laughed Rine, walking round to the foot of the bed and climbing up, "I've saved myself all week for you!"

"Good boy! Get on then and do it like a trooper."

Rine was keen. Elf had a small, elongated bum, not rounded like Walpurga's, but attractive in its own way. He parted Elf's cheeks and looked at his ballsack. It amazed everybody that the most girly boy in Slytherin had two of the biggest balls.

He didn't ponder for long, but slipped his willy into the pre-lubricated, pre-stretched bumhole. Elf gave a groan of pleasure: another constant source of amazement: how could a bumhole that took such a pounding remain sensitive? But it did, and, after a little thrusting from Rine, there could be no doubt that Elf was experiencing an orgasm.

Rine was just thinking about his own orgasm when Alphie climbed on top of him. He felt a small penis entering his bumhole.

"Gerroff, you little Nogtail turd!" he shouted.

But Alphie didn't get off and, in truth, Rine quite enjoyed the sensation.

While the three happy boys were in this position, the door opened and Rine heard Cyg's voice: "Alphard Black! You are a naughty little boy!"

"Leave him alone, Cyg," gasped Rine, "It's better than it loooooks. . . ."

His voice tailed off into a squeal: he was doing Elf proud! He was pumping gallons of stuff into him."

He had hardly stopped moving when a very excited Cygnus pushed him off and mounted Elf.

Scarcely had he started his strokes when Alphie was at it again.

Cyg made no protest: he was probably enjoying the set-up: doing his girlfriend's brother and being done by his own.

The door opened again and Tom Riddle came in with his circle of big boys—including Avery, who was reputed to be celibate.

They greeted each other and Tom asked: "have you contributed Rine?"

"Yeah, Tom, Loads and loads."

"But not little Alphie?"

"No. he's just being cheeky; and I think I'm gonna be cheeky too!"

He licked his middle finger and walked over to the bed. He found Alphie's hole and gently insinuated his finger.

Alphie laughed and shouted: "Yeah! Go on Riney!" as Rine wiggled his finger.

Tom laughed as well: "Two Blacks make loads of white so three Blacks may help the Magic!"

At this point Cyg came to a noisy and prolonged orgasm. Laughing the three boys rolled apart.

"Now, Avery!" said Tom, "This is your big moment."

Avery stripped off. He had a firm erection, but it was surprisingly small for such a big boy.

Rine was put off by Avery's bum: it was big and hairy and smelly-looking—not at all like Elf's trim smoothness or Cyg's pair of peaches, let alone Alphie's sweet little baby-doll bottom.

Still, if Avery were indeed breaking his duck, he should be able to add plenty of stuff for Tom Riddle's mysterious purpose.

Everyone was standing around watching and, having lost interest himself, Rine turned and pressed his finger against Cyg's upper lip.

Cyg grabbed his arm and soon the cousins were rolling about the floor giggling. Rine managed to get Cyg pinned down but Cyg still held his arm and he couldn't get his finger anywhere near Cyg's nose.

Alphie came to the rescue: he crouched down and held Cyg's head firmly while smearing his doubly-shitty willy under Cyg's nose.

Cyg was so distracted that he loosed his grip. Rine freed his hand and, in a brilliant, feint brought it to Alphie's nose.

Alphie shouted: "I don't mind my own, idiot," and inhaled deeply.

They paused in their fun as Avery grunted and they watched him coming: he probably produced gallons but all they could see were the pelvic thrusts and the strained face which was shouting: _hoof . . . hoof . . . hoof_.

There must have been twenty _hoofs_. It was the longest orgasm of the day.

"Well done, Avery!" said Tom.

"A pleasure to serve, My Lord."

Rine had noticed that Tom's friends quite often called him that. He hoped that one day he would enter Tom's inner circle and be able to address him as _My_ _Lord_.

After Avery, the other big boys had their seconds. Not being homos, Rine and Cyg weren't particularly interested: it was just a collection of cocks and bums.

Little Alphie was fascinated, though. He wasn't going to mount anyone but he was brave enough to stand with his stiffie and stroke the pulsating bums.

Avery had another turn and Tom called: "It is done."

"One more, My Lord?" asked Cyg and receiving a smiling nod.

"And a reward for the faithful Rosier, My Lord?" asked Rine, positioning his willy by Elf's mouth.

Again Tom nodded and soon Rine was receiving a mouth from the best sucker in Hogwarts.

He stared into his cousin's eyes. They were frowning slightly as Cyg felt the joy of shagging, but they were staring back at him. Cyg must have the same mystical feeling as he did: this was more than sex: they were part of the magic of their Lord, Tom Riddle. It might be Dark Magic, but that was of no consequence.

Alphie must be feeling a sense of awe too: he muttered "I'm part of this" and crouched behind Rine who soon felt his cousin's tongue playing about his bumhole.

When Rine came, it was the best ever; and Cygnus was coming too, his face screwed up, his breaths being taken with deep grunts and his hand stretched to take Rine's.

When it was finished, Cyg pulled himself out of Elf and stood by the bed.

Everyone was looking at Tom except for Rine who, obeying an unknown instinct, knelt and took Cyg's dripping penis in his mouth.

"See!" shouted Tom Riddle, "The Blacks understand! The pureblood ancient Blacks! Now, Rosier, slowly backwards"

Elf inched backwards until his feet were on the floor and he was bent at the waist with his bum at the edge of the bed.

Tom waved his wand and muttered some words. Then he lowered himself and applied his face to Elf's bum.

"Slowly," he mumbled.

Tom was going to _drink_ the contents.

An hour earlier Rine would have thought this revolting, but his wizarding instincts and the portentous sense of occasion gave him a sense of elation: he knew this was about power; and he knew that Tom Riddle would be the most powerful wizard in the world.

And he was part of it; he would follow his Lord anywhere and forever.

Tom's throat worked for a long time.

Finally he stood up.

"And last of all, the contribution from the Receiver."

Elf stood, revealing a dragon-skin bag tied around his willy.

Tom drank the contents of the bag.

"What next, My Lord?" asked Avery.

Tom laughed sardonically.

"What next? I must go—go and make an entry in my diary!"


End file.
